


The Damsel in Distress

by CaptainnAustralia



Series: The Knight and the Damsel [2]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainnAustralia/pseuds/CaptainnAustralia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School AU for Bruce/Clint. Part 2 of 2 for the Knight and the Damsel. This is more focused on Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Damsel in Distress

To Clint, having Bruce was like having an adorable and exciting new toy. Everything about Bruce was unexplored and fresh and Clint had to  _learn_ , to experiment, to investigate and to discover. He loved learning what made Bruce shiver, how to coax out quiet moans, where to press and what to kiss if he wanted to hear Bruce breathily call his name or tighten his grip.

But it wasn’t just the physical stuff. Bruce never stopped surprising him. Whether they were sitting on the bed, or struggling through homework, or sitting at lunch, Bruce always had a tendency to say something that made Clint laugh so hard he can’t breathe or wonder why someone so smart was still in freakin’  _high school_.

Bruce  _intrigued_ him.

The little dip between Bruce’s eyes when the teacher said something wrong in class and Bruce was too much of a nice person to point it out; the way he bit his lip when reading something interesting and science-related that Clint wouldn’t understand if he tried; the way he smiled when he over-enthusiastically gestures and tries to  _explain_ the science shit that he’d been reading – all of it was so fascinating to Clint. So yeah, he got caught staring sometimes. But then Bruce would just grin and shove him, crack a joke and, if Clint was lucky, pull him back for a kiss.

It was just one of the many delights that was Bruce for Clint to discover that Bruce had a very close chested diet and hadn’t tried several of Clint’s favourite foods. And then it was a whole new game –everyday Clint brought something for Bruce to try, to ‘expand his palette’. Bruce liked raspberries but not blueberries. He’d eaten nearly all of Clint’s sour cream and onion chips when first shown them. He’d pulled the funniest expression when he’d tried liquorish and refused to kiss Clint until the boy managed to get the taste of liquorish out of his mouth.

“Why do I let you do this to me?” Bruce groaned good-naturedly when Clint pulled out a new container of treats, or tricks, for Bruce to try.

 _Because you love me._

“Cuz you love me.” Clint said offhandedly, grinning as he opened the container for Bruce to inspect what was inside. Bruce pulled a face when addressed with something offensively yellow.

 _Clint that thought was for your BRAIN not for out loud._

“You’re so lucky that’s true.” Bruce muttered unhappily, picking up a small piece of the yellow fruit and glaring at it in disgust.

 _Oh my god. He loves me. He just admitted it. He just did, just then, holding pineapple. Do_ not _squeal like a girl Clint, you are better than that. Don’t bring it up either, just… he love you. You. You fucked up little piece of shit, someone loves you._

“What is this stuff?” he asked, snapping Clint back into attention.

“Pineapple.” Bruce’s expression cleared.

“That’s supposed to be nice. Sweet.”

 _Yeah, it’s fucking fantastic; I’m bringing you pineapple every day of the god damn year to celebrate this moment._

“It  _is_. Try it.”

“Clint!”

 _God damn it._

Clint turned around to where Steve was calling to him, indicating a little.

 _If Rogers is going to ask me to join the god damn ‘Gay Club’ or whatever the fuck this school calls it again I’m going to shoot him_.

“Be right back.” Clint muttered while Bruce chewed on a piece of pineapple with a surprised expression. He ducked a kiss against Bruce’s cheek, grinning when he felt Bruce lean into it, before starting over to Steve.

“What do you want?”

“I was wondering if you’d reconsidered.”

“Steve, I’ve already told you – kissing Bruce in the hallway wasn’t my way of ‘coming out’ it was my way of not giving a fuck and wanting to kiss my boyfriend. I don’t have any issues that need talking out or an-”

“Shit, Clint- Bruce!”

 _What?_

Clint looked over his shoulder to where Steve was pointing, just quick enough to see the crowd closing around Bruce while he laid motionless on the ground.

 _No._

“Bruce?!” Clint was running, up and over his table, because coming from above was the only way to part the crowd. He landed heavily, stumbling as he pushed through the last of the crowd. He fell heavily beside Bruce, who was eerily still, one hand flying to his neck while the other found his wrist.

How many times had he done this, as a joke, just to tease, kissing Bruce until he could hardly breathe and then feeling for a pulse, laughing as it raced below his fingertips?

There was nothing.

 _No_.

Still.

 _No._

“Don’t just stand there! CALL AN AMBULENCE!” Clint’s scream sounded strangled and broken to his own ears, like it had been ripped unwillingly from his body, clawing as it went.

Shaking hands flew to Bruce’s chest, pushing and pumping in a haphazard attempt at CPR, memories of classes jammed in his brain.

 _Pace maker, doesn’t he have a pace maker?! Shouldn’t it be… shocking him or something?!_

“Come  _on_  Bruce.” He muttered. Blood rushed in his ears and the world was breaking and he leaned down to push air into still lungs before continuing his brutal assault on Bruce’s chest.

 _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

Below his grip he could feel something square and solid, the pacemaker that wasn’t working.

 _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

The crowd around him thickened and he could hear distant shouts as teachers struggled to break through.

 _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

He pushed a little too hard on the pacemaker, jostling it, hitting something wrong or maybe very, very right. Bruce thrashed as sudden volts were sent crashing into his heart and Clint fell back at the movement, but he was back over Bruce in a second.

 _Please, please, please please_

“Bruce? B? Brucey come on boy, you in there?” He felt for a pulse again.

“Cl-Clint?”

 _Oh my god, oh god,_

“Bruce, oh god, fuck, you’re such an ass! Don’t you EVER do that again, god, shit that was… fuck.” Clint leaned back on his heels, a hand firmly wrapped around Bruce’s wrist to feel the pulse there. Slow. Weak. But  _there_.

“Sorry… I have… a flair… for the dramatic…” He grinned weakly at Clint as the teachers finally forced their way in, forcing the other students away and moving to check Bruce. Someone, Clint vaguely recognized it as his fourth period math teacher, attempted to make him move away, but Clint’s grip on Bruce’s wrist just tightened and he ignored them.

“The ambulance is here, the paramedics are on their way. What happened?” Another teacher informed them.

 _Finally._

“I-I don’t know. I just walked away for a  _second_  and then he was down. I don’t know what hap…pen…ned… ” Clint trailed off.

 _The pineapple._

 _He ate the pineapple._

 _Oh my god he had an allergic reaction to the pineapple._

“He’s having an allergic reaction.” Clint gasped.

 _This was because of the pineapple._

 _This was_ my _fault._

*****************

There was a knock on the kitchen doorframe at exactly 4 like it had every weekday afternoon in the past two weeks. Rebecca Banner looked up from the counter where she was cooking something delicious that Brian Banner wouldn’t be home to eat and that Bruce could only eat a small portion of expectantly and smiled when she caught sight of Clint.

“Hey Ms. B. How you doing?”

Rebecca hadn’t been very fond of Clint when she’d first met him. That was mostly because it had taken so long for them to be introduced – she’d been home early one day and watched when Clint had dropped Bruce off on a very dangerous looking motorcycle. He’d walked Bruce to the door, snaking a kiss onto Bruce’s cheek before turning to leave. It had been Bruce who caught Clint’s sleeve and pulled him back for a proper kiss goodbye. Rebecca had drawn the curtains closed, not wanting to intrude any more. She’d had no idea Bruce was gay, let alone had a  _boyfriend_.

She’d always considered herself to be very close to her son. Having this kind of information held back from her made her feel like Bruce no longer trusted her. She couldn’t help but harbour a small amount of hatred for the boy who was causing this feeling.

It was strange, however, as her and Clint had never been formally introduced. From what she could gather Bruce had a severe allergic reaction at school, which set off his heart. By the time she’d gotten to the waiting room Clint had already been there, back then just the nameless boy from the porch; he’d been crouched, stiff and nervous like a tightly coiled spring on an uncomfortable looking chair with white knuckled fingers in his hair and a bouncing impatient knee, guilt radiating off him in heavy waves. He hadn’t been able to look her in the eye as he stammered that this was  _his_  fault; that  _he’d_  talked Bruce into trying pineapple the first time and he’d looked just about damn near ready to be sick when he said it.

It was hard to maintain any kind of dislike for him after that.

And so every weekday at exactly 4, Clint let himself into the house and paused to talk to her in the kitchen. He seemed genuinely interested in her day, even if it was just about how she’d done the washing or dashed to the post office. Sometimes she’d even coax him into having a coffee with her by casually mentioning that Bruce was still asleep, knocked out on meds, and he’d tell her school, or archery or his bike – which she was surprised to learn he had built himself, and was still working on.

Rebecca tried very hard to ignore the little cuts and scrapes that seemed to always cover Clint, light bruises that on occasion seemed much more serious, bandages that covered his skin. She’d asked about them once and he’d gone very quiet and told her he was just clumsy. Then he’d avoided her for two days, just a simple ‘hi’ before disappearing behind Bruce’s door. There was currently a particularly nasty looking bruise growing on his chin and it took all of Rebecca’s self-control not to force him to sit and tell her about it.

“I’m fine. How are you?” There was a thump from upstairs, Clint’s head snapping up at the sound and Rebecca knew his attention would be lost now that he was aware that Bruce was awake. Surprisingly, however, Clint fixed his far too adult blue eyes on hers and they seemed to deepen when he took a more serious tone.

“How is he?” Rebecca blinked.

“He’s fine Clint.” She watched as the boy’s forehead crinkled.

“No, how is he  _really_? Have the doctors said anything? Can he come back to school any time soon? He won’t  _tell_  me anything. He just tells me he’s fine and… I need to know if he’s just saying that to placate me.” Rebecca smiled again.

“He really is fine Clint. This is just precautionary. He’ll be back in school by Monday.” She tried not to let pity well with happiness when Clint’s face glowed. He’d gotten so  _attached_  to Bruce…

“Really?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Cool. Thank you. I’ll stop to say bye.” He flashed another quick smile before shifting his bag more comfortably over his shoulder and taking the stairs two at a time.

He paused outside Bruce’s door, letting out a long breath before unceremoniously throwing it open. Bruce was perched on the end of his bed with an intense look on his face, glaring at the television as he tilted his controller to the side and stuck out his tongue just a little, catching it between his teeth in his concentration. He didn’t seem to notice Clint’s entrance, even when the boy dropped his bag heavily and collapsed onto the bed next to him, grinning into the pillow. It wasn’t until the game let out a burst of sound and Bruce let the control fall with a disgusted sound and a muttered ‘stupid game anyway’ that he seemed to notice Clint.

“Hello there.” Bruce purred, draping himself over Clint’s back and burying his face in the back of Clint’s neck.

“Oh and the wonderful boyfriend  _danes_  to make himself get off the videogame. And after I went to all the effort of collecting your homework for you.”

“You brought me homework?”

“It’s  _sick_  that you sound excited by that.”

“I get bored.”

 _With all those videogames to keep you entertained?_

“You have a videogame to entertain you.”

“I have  _you_  to entertain me.” Clint felt Bruce’s warm lips press against the back of his neck and swallowed heavily.

 _Relax, Clint, he knows with his heart you guys can’t do anything at the moment and… oh…_

Bruce shifted his head a little and trailed kisses along Clint’s quickly flushing skin, reaching his ear and sucking lightly, one of Bruce’s hands running slowly down the side of Clint’s lanky form before stopping and squeezing at his hip.

 _Shit._

Clint gave a sharp intake of breath and flinched away from the grip. Bruce pulled back immediately, sitting up. That wasn’t the low moan that Bruce had become very near addicted to hearing. That sounded like  _pain_.

“Clint?” Clint rolled off the bed, reaching for his bag.

 _Shit, shit, shit, why did I make that stupid noise? Oh look at him, he’s already got worried face, god that’s cute, no, Clint focus, you just_ gasped _in_ pain _like the little girl you are, say something reassuring. What’s an excuse you haven’t used? Stairs?_

“Sorry, fell down the stairs, just a little sore,” he lied easily, pulling out a heavy wad of paper. He handed it to Bruce with a loose smile.

 _Oh homework, please be distracting_.

“Homework.”

Bruce didn’t take the papers, instead viewing his boyfriend for the first time that day with narrowed eyes.

“What is that?” Bruce asked, nodding at the bruise. Clint frowned.

 _Damn it._

“I fell down the sta-”

“Don’t feed me that  _shit_  Clint. You’re not that clumsy. I know you don’t fall down the stairs, or slam the car door on your hand, or miss a step and tumble down a hill, or burn yourself cooking. I also know that you’re too fast and too god damn smart to get caught in fights at school. I’ve tried ignoring them; I’ve tried to get you to talk about it; I’ve tried  _enough._ Someone’s hurting you and I want to know.” Clint’s expression went hard.

 _Bruce please don’t do this… I need_ something _untarnished in my life. I fell down the stairs. No-one’s hurting me. Please believe that, so that for a few more hours_ I  _can believe that._

“It’s not  _shit_. I fell down the stairs Bruce, nobody’s hurting me.”

“If you fell down the stairs and hit your head at that angle, to make  _that_ bruise, you’d have snapped your neck. You’re a damn good liar Clint, but you  _can’t_  lie to me.”

Bruce expected Clint to get angrier, probably even storm out – Clint wasn’t an emotions person, all physical and laughs and jokes. When things got to serious emotionally he backed out, shouted out or waited until he thought Bruce was sleeping to get whatever was bothering him off his chest. So Bruce really wasn’t expecting it when Clint’s grip on the homework slipped and his expression slipped into something incredibly dejected and… _tired_.

 _He knows. He knows and it’s ruined. Why do you have to be so smart Bruce? You couldn’t sink into my lies just this once? I don’t want you to know. And look at you, you’re so_ angry _, you’re angry at me for lying to you. God, I don’t want to fight about this. I’m so sick of lying Bruce, you have no idea._

“I don’t wanna fight about this.” He whispered, looking away. Guilt crashed over Bruce and he reached out, pulling Clint back onto the bed. Clint went willingly, pushing into the contact, letting Bruce wrap him into a ball and cradle him like a small child – it was quite an effort, because Bruce was smaller than Clint, slightly shorter and a little wirier, regardless of how much food Rebecca made Bruce eat.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce murmured. Clint sighed and pressed his forehead against Bruce’s chest, his eyes closed.

 _He’s sorry. He’s sorry that he’s concerned and I’m a lying bastard who put him in the hospital. I should just shoot myself in the foot._

“Don’t be sorry. You’re just concerned.”

“Clint please… tell me what’s happening, maybe I can help. Please…”

 _I can’t lie anymore, not when Bruce asks like that. But where the hell do I begin?_

“It’s… hard to explain… I don’t…” he let out a short, frustrated noise. 

“It’s your Dad isn’t it?” There was another sharp intake of breath.

 _How does he know?_

“How…?”

“He’s an alcoholic Clint. Sometimes, you’ll talk and you’ll be so excited by whatever you’re saying that you mention things. I picked up it a while ago.”

 _But he didn’t say anything…_

“But you didn’t say anything.”

“I figured you didn’t want me too.”

 _I’m so ashamed of him._

Clint ducked his head a little more, knowing it was true.

“How long?” Bruce probes tentatively.

“Few years – Dad lost his job and he just… lost everything I guess. I-I cop the worst of it, but it’s okay, I gotta sometimes – I just want him to keep off Barns… He shouldn’t have to go through that.” Bruce’s grip tightened around Clint.

“And you should?! It’s  _not_  okay. Why don’t you tell someone?” Clint mumbled a response into Bruce’s chest and Bruce sighed.

“Clint…”

 _You’re gonna make me tell you everything aren’t you?_

“I don’t want to be that kid Bruce. You know if I told people I’d be put in foster care? I could lose Barney, they could split us up.  I’d probably have to move away too, change schools,” his grip tightened in Bruce’s shirt, “I’d lose you too.” Bruce bit his lip, a hand rubbing Clint’s back calmingly.

“You wouldn’t lose me.”

 _I love you_.

“But you can’t promise that I wouldn’t move; that they wouldn’t take Barns.” Bruce didn’t say anything, just pulling Clint more comfortably against him and settling a chin on the blonde boys head.

 _Please don’t let me go_.

“Just one more year Bruce,” Clint murmured quietly, “one more year. Then I’ll be 18 and I can move out of there. I’m gonna grab Barney and run for the hills. I’ve been saving my prize money from my archery competitions, I can get a job – we don’t need someplace fancy, just a roof, two beds, food. But we’d be safe – I could keep him safe. I’d rather be beaten up once every couple of weeks til that happens then have everything ripped apart my some social worker.”

“You could stay here until then. We have a spare room.”

 _Oh god; Bruce please don’t offer that. Please._

“Bruce…”

“Clint, I’m serious. My mom already loves you. She wouldn’t mind.”

 _I want it so bad, to get away from it, to be_ here _. Please, Bruce, don’t offer this I know I won’t be able to say no._

“I can’t move in here Bruce, I can’t impos-”

“You think it counts as imposing that I’d get to have an incredibly hot blonde down the hall from me at all hours?”

 _Stop considering it Clint. Stop. What about Barney?_

“What about Barney?”

“It’s a big room. And I’m pretty sure he’d have it to himself most of the time.”

 _Oh you sly dog._

Clint snorted, unable to help himself.

“You’re pretty sure of yourself Banner.”

“Of course I am; I’m a genius.” Clint laughed, relaxing more under Bruce’s hand on his back. He had his head resting on Bruce’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeat, refusing to believe that something so strong could have been so weak, that something so clearly _there_  could be taken away from him with something as simple as a piece of pineapple, refusing to believe that it had  _stopped…_

The force of it hit him like a wrecking ball, crippling from out of the blue.

 _I don’t want to go home_.

“I don’t want to go home.” He whispered it so quietly he could barely hear it himself but it seemed like he’d screamed it into the silent room.

 _I don’t want to home. I don’t want to go back there, to that place. It’s not warm like it is here. There’s nobody to keep me safe. I don’t want to go home, please, please Bruce don’t make me._

Bruce just pulled him tighter still.

“You don’t have too. We can get Barney tonight if you want. You can get your stuff.”

“Please.” He didn’t mean it to come out so begging.

“I promise.”

 _He promises. He promises and he always keeps his promises. I’ll be safe here. I’ll be safe here._

There was another long silence, just Bruce rubbing Clint’s back in the same comforting manner.

“I-I’m sorry about… the pineapple.”

 _Really, really, really, sorry, I’ll never stop being sorry._

“You’ve said that already.”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

 “Stop apologizing I liked the pineapple.”

 _You are never having pineapple ever again._

“Until you started choking on it and your heart stopped.”

“Good thing my brave knight was there to get it going again, hu?”

  _You call me your knight… do you even know that you’re saving me?_

 “Damn straight. You make a wonderful damsel in distress.” Bruce laughed and ducked his head, pressing a lopsided kiss to Clint’s cheek. Clint sighed happily, turning in Bruce’s grip to kiss him properly, trying to force all of his thanks and apologies and wants and hopes and fears into that action and Bruce responded in kind, and on some level Clint thought that maybe he understood.

 _You have the weirdest life Clint._


End file.
